Cry
by tailored shirt-tails
Summary: He looks like he doesn't care. He may act like he doesn't, but everyone knows that he does. But Dallas Winston definitely does not, under any circumstances, cry.


**This**** story is something I threw together last night at like 3 am, so I apologize for any mistakes. I don't have a Beta and I am not the best at spotting spelling and grammar errors. Anyway, Read and Review  
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**If anyone asks,**

**I'll tell them we both just moved on**

"Hey, Dal, how ya doin' man? I mean I know it ain't been the same since that Johnny kid d-,"

"Just stop talking Shepard. You don't give a fuck about how I feel. You probably wished those damn bullets killed me that night," Dallas's outburst didn't faze Tim in the slightest. Anybody in their right mind knew to not being up the kid in front of Dally. But it was okay because Tim wasn't in his right mind. Nobody who shared a house with his whiny sister and his shit head brother would ever be in their right mind.

"Maybe they should've aimed a little bit better. At least then you wouldn't be moping around and drinking beer like you ain't gotta pay for it. Oh, that's right. You don't. Your ass leaves and then I'm stuck with the tab," Tim continued to ramble and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'asshole', but admittedly, Dallas couldn't be bothered to listen.

He was stuck on the fact that he was "moping around". What the hell did that even mean? Had he really been that depressing? Dally knew he was torn up in the inside, but was he really projecting that outwardly?

He groaned almost inaudibly. He was beginning to sound feel like Pony, with all that thinking and shit. The poor kid over thought everything, but with damn Muscles breathing down his neck all the time for good grades it was a wonder the kid hadn't snapped yet.

He shook his head to rid himself of all other thoughts. He needed to get back to the real issue here. "Fuck you, Tim. Nobody's moping over no one. Except maybe your mom over what a piece of shit you turned out to be,"

Dallas Winston did not mope. Especially over wiseass teenagers that had a damn death wish. Why would anyone willingly run into a burning building to save some little kids? That was just plain stupid and look where it got Johnny. Six feet under in a damn wooden box. A small voice in his head told Dallas that he had run into the building to save kids. _Yeah _he thought, _and I should be underground too. _

**When people all stare**

**I'll pretend that I don't hear them talk**

Every time Dallas Winston walked around town, he pretended that he didn't see when women walked a little closer to their husbands as he sauntered by. He conveniently never noticed when mothers pulled their children a little closer to them as they hurried past.

It didn't matter. Dally didn't need their approval. He was Dallas Winston. Nobody's opinion mattered to him. Well, the one person with an opinion that mattered was dead.

**Whenever I see you,**

**I'll swallow my pride**

**and bite my tongue**

**Pretend I'm okay with it all**

**Act like there's nothing wrong**

"Hey man, on Wednesday we're going to Johnny's grave. I don't know if you wanted to go with us?" Sodapop shifted nervously from foot to foot. Dally chuckled inwardly, Soda looked like he was gonna piss himself.

"Why wouldn't I go? You trying to tell me something, Curtis?" Dallas menacingly leaned forward and tightened his fists. He could see a flash of fear skit through Soda's eyes but it was quickly replaced by a look of determination and a fierceness that Dallas had only seen in his eyes when Pony was missing.

"Look, you can try and fool whoever you want, but you're not going to fool me. Or Darry, or Steve, or Two-Bit, and especially not Pony. So stop with the tough guy act," Soda was on a roll and he wasn't about to stop now that Dallas was a little pissy.

"Now you listen here Curtis, you're not the fucking boss of me. You're not my goddamn dad or fucking keeper. I'll do as I please. And just so we're clear, I'm not going on Wednesday. I don't give a flying fuck how long it's been since the kid died. He's dead. He's probably got fuckin' maggots eating away at his half burnt off flesh. He's in the damn ground. Get over it. It's over. He's dead!"

Dallas made sure he emphasized the last word of his little rant. He was heavy breathing and everything. Soda noted that he was a little red in the face. The middle Curtis sibling couldn't help but notice that Dallas seemed completely sincere. He really seemed like he was okay with Johnny being dead, which was ironic considering the fact that he was the only one that went and got shot up by the cops when poor ol' Johnny died. _There's no way he's over it, _Soda thought, _no possible way._

**Is it over yet?**

**Can I open my eyes?**

**Is this as hard as it gets?**

**Is this what it feels like to really cry?**

It was Wednesday and when Dallas finally looked around and took note of his surroundings he realized that he had gone back on his word to Soda. _Eh,_ he thought, _it won't matter. It's_ _not like any of 'em are out here anyway. Doubt Superman would let them out past sundown._

Dally lowered himself to the ground in front of Johnny's headstone. "Can't believe it's been a year Johnnycakes. Kinda crazy. It doesn't feel like it's been a year though. Seems like forever ago you and Pony showed up saying you killed a Soc. God, you two looked so scared, like you were about to shit yourselves. Made me wish I had camera," Dallas chuckled. He continued to have a one-sided conversation for a little while until a cool chill settled over the cemetery.

"Alright Johnny, I gotta go," Dally ignored the slight catch in his throat and just brushed it off as the beginnings of a cold. Greasy hoods like him didn't get colds, but they sure as hell didn't cry over people dying. it was inevitable on that side of town. _People all die, some sooner than others. _The young delinquent cringed at the thought and tried to ignore the sting when he brought his eyelids together. He was just sick. He wasn't crying over some kid. And those water drops that were now dripping down Dallas's cheeks? It was just condensation.

After a few minutes of contemplating how much it would hurt his rep, Dallas allowed himself to feel sadness for the kid's death. Not grief or overwhelming sadness, or uncontrollable sobbing fits. '_He was a good kid, he didn't deserve the life he got,' _the hood justified to himself.

As the waves of sadness came on, it became harder and harder to hold back the needle-like tears that felt like they were gonna cut open his eyelids. As one tear managed to escape his eye, it was like the floodgates opened. every wall, every defense, and every ounce of the tough guy the once remained in the shall of a boy sitting by that headstone was gone. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He couldn't catch his breath. All of the memories that he had with Johnny, memories he had swore he would never think about again were now assaulting him from every direction. He couldn't control it. This was the one thing Dallas didn't have control over and he needed it to stop.


End file.
